Stay Inside
by Secret Scarlet Lilly
Summary: She'd succumbed to the pressure, scribbling on a piece of ripped paper her goodbye, her apology and the plea of, "As my last demand as leader; please do not look for me." (Clarke runs away only to be taken. Will Bellamy be able to rescue her or will he hurt her more in the process?)
1. Stay Inside

A/N: The aftermath of the last episode, and my need for something different then Clarke being confronted about her behavior.

Warning, hinting at suicidal thoughts and bits of depressed symptoms. If this triggers you, proceed with caution or don't read.

* * *

She's adrift, and she doesn't know how far out she is.

All she does know, is that the waves are currently yanking at her ankles and gently tugging at the strands of her hair, the only noise being the pounding of her heart and the hum of waves crashing about her, the only taste being the salty flavor of deep blue, the only souvenir of life is the whistle of air brought into her lungs and out past her parted lips, the sun light streaming and intermingling with the depths of sea.

Every evening, just before the sun kisses the earth goodnight, she swims out past the shore and submerges in the comforting chaos of rampaging waves and reckless motion.

She stays out and floats on her back until the moon dances with the stars, the glittering orbs of light reminding her of the sand reflecting the sunshine.

She then swims back to shore leisurely, her skin still warm from the pink hue adorning her cheeks, left by the licking flames of the sun, her fingers and palms wrinkly and numb, the water cascading down her neck and her ears as they drain the liquid, the sound coming back to her in whispering crickets and a rough breeze coursing through the air, the noises bringing her somewhat back to life.

It's been only three months since she'd managed to save her people, three months since she had returned home and watched indifferently at the display of reuniting families and rejoicing voices, three months since the pestering concern, responsibilities, and further disappointment.

Three months since abandoning her role as leader.

Three months since she'd left it all behind in the middle of the night, with deep gashes torn into her wrists and along her arms, her mind screaming and her face blank.

Three months since trembling finger tips and a constant reminder of how incredibly _weak_ she is, the bravado of strength tearing at her defenses, the impending realization dawning on her that love wasn't her weakness.

She was her own weakness.

How do you get rid of yourself?

How can you lead people with your head held high and your fists clenched, when you don't even know how to function on your own?

She'd succumbed to the pressure, scribbling on a piece of ripped paper her goodbye, her apology and the plea of, "_As my last demand as leader; please do not look for me."_

Now she was here, alone living by the coast, her pathetic little makeshift tent and bonfire her home, the fishes in the sea her only company.

It's bittersweet, time doesn't seem to pass here, the only threat being wildlife and the creatures residing underneath the ravenous currents, but it's manageable.

She spends her days lethargically, collecting shells and adding declarations to her abode, idly putting her hair into intricate braids and drawing in the sand with her walking stick.

Sometimes she thinks she's insane, speaking to herself occasionally, laughing at her own jokes and crying and screaming into the dusk of night, the images of musky brown eyes and dusting freckles marring her dreams and haunting her through her days.

She doesn't exactly know if it's been three months, loses count of the days after a month and a half, tries not to think of her past life and the residing guilt that builds and fluctuates in her chest at the memories.

Before she had planned to stay here only to clear her head, but instead she's stayed inside her own mind; her worst enemy and best friend becoming herself.

Sometimes she wishes someone would find her, and other days she basks in the isolation and seclusion, the nagging reminder that nobody would look for her anyways being persistently avoided.

The people she loved most hated this person she had become, this stranger taking refuge in her body, the way _he _had looked at her afterwards, his conflicted gaze locking with her own, the way his smile dipped and strained into a thin line, the way his eyes glazed over with something she couldn't identify with.

Hate? No.

Resentment? Maybe.

Concern? Perhaps.

Disappointment? Yes.

But it wasn't just the disappointment in his eyes; it was in everyone's eyes.

In Octavia's sapphire jewel eye's, the unspoken scorn of her brother and her lover's life being put to risk at the blonde's words underlying ever glance. Raven's chocolate orbs resilient detachment to her all to obvious. Jasper and Monty's avoided eye contact when they had found out what she had done. Her mother's warm russet brown eyes now brittle and dully ashamed.

All the rest she had risked her life for looked to her with strangling sympathy and contempt.

It's quite beautiful today as she chases the swarming thoughts out of her head, the sun shining and the seagulls cawing in the air, the remnants of winter disassembling through the misty spray of air, the colors so entrancing that she feels her fingers curl at the sudden urgency to draw the sight in front of her.

Instead she strips her clothing until she's only left in her undergarments, the sand nipping at her toes and nudging it's way underneath her stubby nails as she wades further into the ocean, the familiar laps of water encasing her in its embrace, as if begging her to come closer, to be free and let go.

So she does.

She goes so deep that that land beneath her feet drops off, the chill of unoccupied sea arising goose bumps along her skin, her heart picking up in pace as anxious excitement courses through her veins, her mind focusing only on how far she can go, testing her strength and nourishing the need to feel at peace.

Its different today, the waves greedier in their pull and delicate in their push, her nerves in tangles and her heart in shambles, their names echoing in her mind, the dull reassurance that they were okay without her cutting deeper than before, the depth of her pain overwhelming her and she loses the will to float.

So she sinks, dunks her head under and lets the oxygen bubble up to the surface, the pressure on her lungs sinfully soothing, lulling her into a distant slumber, half-conscious as she remembers the words she had written specifically to him back and forth and running through and through.

"_When we deny the EVIL within ourselves, we dehumanize ourselves, and we deprive ourselves not only of our own destiny but of any possibility of dealing with the EVIL of others."_

― _J. Robert Oppenheimer_

_Goodbye Bellamy._

_Clarke._

* * *

_"_Judge me, I will understand  
I'm ugly, only half a man  
It's your country, and I'm contraband  
Love me and I'll leave your land

When the under dogs rise again, I'll have my time  
When my body starts turning in, I'll have my mind  
Nothing is getting in, not even light  
I'm gonna stay inside, stay inside."

Raleigh Ritchie


	2. A New Life

A/N: I changed the rating since I plan to have some very... interesting moments later on.

Thank you for the reviews! I appreciate everyone.

Inspired by, "A Moor," by Raleigh Ritchie

* * *

She's unconscious hoisted up and over the strange man's shoulder, her arms swinging limply like dead weight, her tangled honeydew waves tickling her nose and brushing against the bare skin of his biceps.

There's others too, crowded around the leading brusque man and the towering women with black pin straight hair and pale sharp cheek bones.

She speaks with a swift tongue, her eyes as icy cold as the chill running through the air, her accent thick and her chin held high glaring straight forward.

"We do not sell this one. I wish to keep her."

The man carrying the wilting Clarke hunches over a bit in his stature, tries to catch his Queen's eyes in confusion; the usual stern tone of his unrequited love coming out shakily and full of emotion.

"But why? Surely she is worth much in trade. She's not a Grounder, perhaps even a Sky person." He mutters inquiringly, his thick voice laced with concern catching the attention of the Queen immediately, her head jerking to the side to glower at him, her piercing glass eyes intimidating any who look upon her.

After a moment of strained eye contact she sighs, latching her eyes with the lush scenery in front of her, not bothering with returning his steadfast eye contact as she murmurs, "She's an artist."

Instantly he's snapping his mouth shut, his lips pulling into a stern line and he huffs, a heavy feeling settling in his stomach.

"Designs in the sand do not guarantee true talent, my Queen," He replies hesitantly, before shifting the weight of the blonde more comfortably on his shoulder and muttering under his breath, "I hope for your sake, you do not get your hopes up."

The daunting authority beside him lets out a breathy laugh, her hands concealed behind draping sleeves behind her back as they pressing into the skin with force at the tousled worries entangled in her mind.

"I have the highest of optimistic hopes. She shall be my personal artist," She smiles brightly over at him, causing the breath in his throat to catch, before her smile transitions to that of a sneer, "I am quite enthusiastic, no?"

He grunts in response, clearing his throat as they continue their way down the winding forest, his fists clenching at the mere jealousy that it wasn't him that caused her to smile like that, but a measly girl.

"What if someone tries looking for her, claiming her? If she's a Sky person and we keep her, we are risking the lives of our own. They could take it as an act of war; kidnapping one of their own." He states indifferently, willing himself to maintain some of his integrity as he casts his gaze away, missing the way her curling of lips dipping into an unpleasant frown.

Her eyes broaden at the indication, a twitch underneath her eye as she tilts her head innocently to the side, admiring the air in front of her with a bland and distant expression, followed by a sickeningly sweet smile.

"Are you trying to defy me? I will not hesitate to cut off your head if you continue to fight me on this, Lestic."

He slows in his steps at the easy dismissal of his life, his chest squeezing with guilt as he speaks harshly through clenched teeth, "Your mood swings tend to give me whiplash."

She briskly laughs, the view of the high snowy peaks coming into view, the ice yet to melt away into spring.

"I'm always in the mood to cut off your head, dearie."

* * *

She wakes up on a plethora of furs, varying from jaguar to bear skin to other animals she wasn't familiar with. Her head pounds and her body aches with a newly found soreness, her eyes glazing over and her sight speckled with black fuzz and a hazy mash of colors consuming her vision, the dryness in her throat almost unbearable causing her to swallow thickly.

A million questions pass through her mind a mile a minute, causing the thumping of her heart to increase in uncertainty as she tries to take in her surrounds.

_Am I dead? Did I drown?_

She sits up unsteadily on her elbows, taking in the tall ceilings and milky white walls surrounding her, adorned with hanging broken picture frames and intriguing colorful rugs, a glass window allowing a yellow glow to stream through rubicund drapes, dust particles scattering and dancing about in the light.

Her navy orbs narrow into a squint as she glances to her shackled ankles and to the glass of water filled to the brim resting beside her, her gut dropping at the thought of being captured.

_Restricted. I've been saved and taken as prisoner. I didn't die._

_Why didn't I die?!_

Panic fizzles up her throat, her teeth clamping down on her bottom tulip lip hard enough to draw blood as she suppresses the scream willing up inside of her.

Suddenly there is a jiggle of a doorknob, the sound springing her into action as she hastily backpedals, the hefty dense weight anchoring her to the floor, her fortunately free hands reaching to wrestle with restraints.

Clarke's breathe catches at the sound of a man clearing his throat, her quaking fingertips ceasing in her movement as her eyes drift up to meet a incredibly built man with broad shoulders and a deepening frown, as well as a mysterious woman's ominous figure.

A lazy grin stretches across the nameless woman's face, her thick coal colored hair being tugged mercilessly behind her ear in an almost shy display, as she purses her lips.

"You don't need to be afraid. I mean no harm," she pauses, sucking and chewing on the inside of her cheek timidly as she latches eyes with the blue eyed beauty. She darts her tongue out and licks her chapped lips, regaining some confidence and disregarding her nervous enthusiasm if only for the moment, before continuing on.

"I offer you the highest of places here, as long as you do the simple task of using your talent to… please me."

Clarke's eyebrows furrow in confusion, the words getting caught behind her teeth as she tries to speak, causing her to instead sputter into a coughing fit, her hands clamping the glass of water desperately to help aid her sore throat.

After draining the precious liquid with much eagerness, Clarke manages the few syllables out in a shaky breath.

"My… healing abilities?"

The woman's smile broadens, her lips curling upwards in a way that makes Clarke feel lighter and less cautious.

"No, no of course not silly! Your artistic abilities," the Queen sighs dreamily before quickly coming back to reality at the sight of Clarke's confines, her head tilting to the stock still man in a silent demand. The man rolls his eyes in turn before rushing closer to the huddled sun kissed girl, his hands making quick work of the shackles encasing Clarke's ankles.

Clarke blinks in surprise, the enthusiastic and cheery disposition of another human being catching her off guard, as well as the turn of the conversation, the feel of physical contact taking the air out of her lungs.

_The last time I touched someone, I brushed his curls away. _

_How much time has gone?_

_Is he okay?_

She shakes her head and jumbles the contemplations about, glancing down at her now released ankles, gasping silently at the stark contrast of the man's pale lengthy fingers compared to her tanned flesh.

The man doesn't register her stare or simple doesn't care, standing up abruptly and taking hold of Clarke's wrist before yanking her up to stand.

Clarke wobbles a bit, her legs like jelly as she leans heavily into the freakishly tall woman now beside her, her quivering legs eliciting a quiet laughter from the glass eyed Queen, the sound provoking a small quirking of lips from the unapproachable male.

"Come, I have to show you the room specially destined for you. I have many colors and dozens of paints for you. I assume you will be very pleased, yes?"

She leads Clarke to the steel door; the man whom Clarke assumed was the women's second, swiftly flinging it open. The man guides Clarke by the small of her back down a labyrinth of hallways, all the walls decorated with swirling designs that consisted of intricate flowers, branches and trees, the various pinks, greens and lavenders intermixing together.

The blonde lets out a breath at the wondrous sight, her eyes bright, curious and wide at the precise details in the art, her mind locked in a continuous daze as her fingers unconsciously splay against the walls beside her, feeling the slick lines of dried paint with awe.

The woman smiles grandly, taking notice of Clarke's enraptured aura, subtly nodding at the man as he slides his hand away from the back of the curvy blonde's hourglass figure, his calloused hands shove against a double set of doors, that could only be described as a wooden masterpiece. The knobs a brassy gold and the wood stained a dark silky brown, the Queen's sly smile threatening to become wider as they make their grand entrance into the room.

Clarke halts, captivated by the room with fairly high ceilings and all smoothly paved white walls, even the floor a snowy white aligned with instruments of art, dozens of paint buckets and makeshift paint brushes all neatly set up at the corner of the room, pencils and pens of varying colors and even pastels gaining the blondes attention instantaneously.

Clarke can't resist the magnetic pull forcing her to the object of her desire, her blood rushing through her veins and goose bumps arising as she feels the soft bristles of a paint brushes against the tips of her fingers.

She kneels down, rummaging through the massive collection of art supplies in excitement, a strange and foreign feeling bubbling up inside her, a feeling she hadn't felt in months, her eyes twinkling with joy and her hands unsteady with anticipation.

Whilst the towering woman lounges by shoulder to shoulder with the considerably shorter man with a stretched out smile of her own, her cheeks almost aching at the blissfully bittersweet sight, her mind dabbling into the affairs of a younger version of herself.

She clenches her teeth and intertwines her arms and shielded hands behind her back, her heart throbbing in her chest for a moment when new found distaste and resentment for the Grounder tribe pulses through her.

"Before you get too carried away, I'd like to get you freshly bathed and clothed for the celebration feast tonight. You'll have more than enough time to acquaint yourself with these supplies soon."

Clarke's ears perk up at the light and feathery voice of the women, and she tilts her head to the side and gets back up to her feet as she tries to fight of the contagious smile spreading across her enlightened face.

"This can't – this can't be real. Maybe I have died," she mumbles, her fingers curling around her wrist in a display of shyness and to obscure the scars of failed deaths from the people's eyes.

The woman smiles slightly as she peers downwards at the golden beauty with understanding and comforting eyes.

"You almost did. My pack found you on the shore, and had to resuscitate you. I discovered your home and the art work drawn into the sand... I was quite intrigued. I must ask of your name, and give you mine."

Clarke glances at her bare feet, the sudden realization that she had been changed while unconscious into loosely fitting clothing making her blush faintly in embarrassment.

She clears her throat and lifts her pacific blue eyes to meet the Queen's, her expression now determined and serious but also grateful as she softly replies.

"I'm Clarke. Clarke Griffin."

The woman nods in confirmation as she answers back, "I am Exzilda, the Ice Nation's Queen."

* * *

"Maybe we could find a haven, get lost, go ape, it would be so amazing  
We can do what we wanted to do  
Kick up a fuss and never trust what we knew  
Trying new things, new life, no strings  
Even if our fights get raw, we'll brush it away, no strife, what for?  
Kick off the door and leave, I want more."

Raleigh Ritchie


	3. Grow Fonder

_A/N: Hey guys. I made sure to include Bellamy's pov on here to please some people. :) Thank you for the reviews! I appreciate it._

_Enjoy! Inspired by "Wait for me," by Kings of Leon._

_And sorry if I spelt Kostia wrong, it was either spelled Costia or Kostia so I just guessed._

_The next chapter the plot will pick up and Clarke and Bellamy will soon be reunited. The chapters will get longer though._

* * *

_"I lost some special to me too. Her name was Kostia. She was captured by an ice nation whose queen believed she knew my secrets, because she was mine. They tortured her, killed her, cut off her head." _

Clarke's breath hitched, the memory spiraling into view, the kind smile the Queen was proudly displaying now contorted in her mind, goose bumps arising on her skin as she takes a stunned step backwards, the words tumbling off her tongue.

"You're the one who killed Kostia. Cut off her head." She shakes her golden tresses, her eyes dropping from the steel gaze the taller women was upholding, her fingers curling as she quickly scans the area for something to use as a weapon, dread and fear scribbling across her face.

Exzilda's eyes blur at the mention of _that _women's name, horrendous memories cloud her senses, a scowl consuming her expression as she takes a hesitant step closer to the girl, the burn of Lestic's gaze discombobulating her composure.

"Clarke, do not jump to conclusions." She replies in haste, her eyes pleading as she unravels her hands from behind her back and lets them hang limply by her sides, the long material of her sleeves grazing the pale skin of her knees.

Clarke then stands tall, her heart in her throat with apprehension, her face emotionless as she mutters darkly, "Lexa told me first hand. You do not need to torture me for my secrets. I have none for I am not close to anyone."

Exzilda's nose scrunches as she bites the inside of her cheek in frustration, her eyes swimming with rampant emotions as she speaks unnervingly calm.

"Lestic, pull up my sleeves."

The Queen's eyes never stray from the blonde's, her frigid haunted eyes seeming to nip at the warmth in Clarke's soul. On cue the man wearily glances at the tall women for confirmation with his eyes, as if asking, 'are you sure?'

Exzilda's nods briskly, breathing in deeply as the long tethered gray sleeves of her gown slide up to her elbows, her eyes not daring to glance down at her own flesh as she gauges the artist's reaction.

Clarke can't suppress the quiet gasp at the sight of the women's hands, bone and fingers up to her knuckles nonexistent, all ten of her fingers missing and sharing the same revolting scar, leaving nubs in their place.

Exzilda pulls her arms back behind her back, her eyes wavering as she recites the awful torture she experienced in her head as she whispers feebly, "How could I possibly cut of her lover's head? You were lied to. This is what those savages did to me. They tore my only love, my only _joy_, away from me."

Clarke takes her bottom lip in between teeth awaiting a further explanation, the image of the Queen's hands seared into her mind.

"They took away my talent." The Queen sighs, softening underneath the younger girl's lingering gaze, a sad smile reappearing as she continues on.

"This is why we brought you here. You have the same talent that I used to, I presume. That is why I wish you would stay here and by my personal artist, be a part of our people. I promise you will be treated as royalty. You will forget about your past life."

Clarke relaxes at the gentle tone of the Queen; her eyes darting to the man called Lestic, and then to the beautiful room around her, full of tempting supplies to practice her favorite hobby.

Exzilda notices the look of contemplation and beams with a sense of relief, her head tilting to the side as she catches the blonde's wandering gaze.

"It will all be yours. You don't have to run away anymore. I offer you the chance of a life time. Do not let it pass or you will surely regret it."

Clarke closes her eyes tightly momentarily, trying to get a grasp on her thoughts.

_I will forget about my past life._

_I can start over._

_The horrors of Mount Weather, the mistakes I have made will no longer follow me._

_Mom. Octavia. Raven. Jasper. Monty. Bellamy._

_Bellamy._

_I will forget them as they have already forgotten me.  
_

Clarke slowly opens her sea foam eyes, taking a deep breath to smooth away the crease in her forehead as she speaks with a precarious voice, "I accept."

* * *

Perhaps it was his fault.

The days that followed the tragic triumph over Mount Weather came with liberating celebrations and mourning, the many lives that had been saved and stolen leaving a sour taste in his mouth that intermingled with the burning flavor of moonshine. The fatigue and loss of blood had restrained him from any sort of celebrating, his haunted eyes overcast with the terrors that would never leave him.

He found he couldn't look at her afterwards, avoiding her desperate gaze even when she had been fumbling through apologies and tears, turning a blind eye to the excruciating pain wreaking havoc inside of her, his indifference apparent in every conversation.

She had said, _"It should have been me that went, I – I'm so sorry."_

And he had glanced away, clenching his jaw in distress at the burrowed resentment in his chest, the constant tug and pull of his emotions, the struggle of not wanting to be angry or blame her but not being able to control it.

He replied severely, _"It wasn't worth the risk?"_

She had recoiled as if he had just physically hit her, the flash of hurt glinting in her eyes as she had mumbled a _maybe I should go_ on the verge of tears, and he had pretended he hadn't noticed, offering a curt _yeah, maybe._

He'd come to regret that moment immensely, his remorse in drips of wet leaking onto the floor of his lonesome tent, crumbling the sorry excuse of a goodbye letter in his hand, a new kind of despair clutching at his heart and making its home there.

The day he had woken up to deliver the news of her departure was perhaps more painful than any torture inflicted upon him in that God forsaken mountain, the way the words stumbled off his lips as he had explained to her mother where she had gone and the note she left behind.

A part of him was furious with her, angry that she could just leave and give up everything they had created together, to dismiss her responsibilities and cave into the inner turmoil of her mind.

He wanted to believe she was stronger than that, wanted to believe she was as invincible as she appeared the day she rescued him, her hair twisted in intricate braids and dressed in armor, the way she had let out a choked sob when he had said half-conscious and bleeding everywhere, _looks like the Princess is also the Knight in shinning armor._

The others weren't as happy with her also; her mother Abby had sent almost half the camp to scour the earth for her missing daughter, the search parties always returning grim-faced and empty-handed.

Abby had mental breakdowns in the mist of many council meetings in the first month of Clarke's disappearance, thus leading to Kane rubbing his hand on her back in a comforting motion and Bellamy propelling himself up and out of his seat and hurdling through the door in agitation, the constant reminder too much to handle.

He recalls that night after the third week when her mother had approached him with heavy bags underneath her eyes and a permanent crease engraved into her forehead, the little crinkle reminding Bellamy of Clarke when she got frustrated.

Abby spoke to him softer than she had ever done in his presence, even quieter than the words muttered when he had been passed out on a table.

_"Why did she leave you the note? Why didn't she write me? Did she hate me that much, that I didn't even deserve a goodbye?" _

She didn't wait for his response, hugging herself for a false sense of security, her eyebrows pinched together as she looked off into the distance at nothing, another habit Clarke had received from her mother.

_"She will die hating me; she didn't even give me the time and chance to repair things between us. She just left."_

He had stiffened at the mention of Clarke passing, the faces of too many dead running through his mind and the silent thought of _she can't die_ consuming his thoughts, a scowl forming upon his lips as he answered unsympathetically.

_"Some things can't be fixed, even with all the time in the world."_

He had walked away after sharing his final word, not looking back to catch the disbelief and understanding all tied together washing over Abby's face.

These dreary days continued on with the remaining hundred all contributing their ideas on _where could she possibly have gone_ and _we need to find her _and finally the dreaded _do you think she's… dead?_

Monty and Jasper had conspired with their fellow peers the grand mission of, 'Finding Clarke,' basing their confidence in their belief of _we can find her, she's one of us, she wouldn't hide from us._

But the plan was disengaged when a little birdy had eavesdropped and told the grief-stricken Bellamy, thus leading to the mingling teens being indignantly berated by Bellamy Blake himself with the notion of, _"She said she wanted no one looking for her. So drop it."_

He was met with several concerned gazes and back-pats soon after, as well as the agonizing small talk with Miller that led to how sad the whole thing was and the dreaded, _"I'm sorry man."_

Raven had acted uninterested, only sometimes slipping up with a look of guilt revealed behind her bravado, her words of, _She's better off gone, _seeming to taunt her everywhere she went.

Octavia tended to act coldly as well, only ever saying two words on the subject before dropping it completely, the resentment of her lovers almost death still residing inside her, as well as the grudge she held against Clarke for Bellamy's sake.

Even Murphy, whom had returned from his little escapade with Jaha when realizing that the City of Light was more of a pipe-dream than anything else, couldn't shut up about the blonde.

_"Never knew the princess was such a damsel in distress."_

The sentence was cut short when Bellamy's fist had collided into Murphy's nose with an all-to-satisfying crack, followed by a few other blows before they were being pulled off each other, the forgiveness Bellamy once had transitioning to that of outright distaste.

Murphy had sagged his shoulders in momentary defeat, cradling his bent out of shape nose with his left hand, muttering a quiet, _"Don't take your anger out on me. Get your head out of your ass and find her if you're so upset."_

Bellamy would later admit that Murphy was indeed right, that all the denial and pent up anger didn't resolve anything except furthering his misery, the acceptance and realization of how he couldn't function properly without her being more than a little discouraging to his ego.

Or his pride, or his sanity_, _or his _heart,_ but that was something he hadn't yet come to terms with.

It was after the second month passing that the search parties slowly trickled down to a stop, and when the once head stronger Chancellor began her own process of accepting the circumstances and mourning for her loss.

Others followed in suit, but not him.

He couldn't.

Not with that crushed up wad of paper pressed into his back pocket every day, the lines repeated in his mind so many times that he's almost positive he recites them in his sleep.

It drives him insane, to where he couldn't even do the simplest of tasks before becoming distracted with the thoughts of; where could she have gone_? Did she get hurt? Was she alone?_

He remembers the look in her eyes the night before she had vanished, the way he had caught her staring at him with a weak smile and hazy eyes, the way her sleeves were pulled too far down and held too tightly in curled fists, the way she had appeared so fragile and broken and guilt-ridden that it took the breath out of his lungs.

He had looked away a moment too soon, glaring at the flickering fire as the desire in his heart to hold her grew.

He should have held her.

He should have told her it wasn't her fault, that nothing had been her fault, that they were _okay._

Except they weren't.

The one thing that had pulled them together before had then pushed them apart.

Because love was a weakness and her words still kept him up at night tossing and turning and hurting all over again.

He didn't know his did the same to her.

After the third month her absence is all too painfully apparent, the way her shimmering gold waves no longer stuck out like a sore thumb in the crowd, the way that sometimes he'd find himself in the medical bay looking for a girl that wasn't there, the way he'd sit through council meetings thinking about how pissed off she would be about some of the decisions being made.

He wished he could fight with her, grab her shoulders and rattle her insides and scream at her, wish she would be doing the same to him.

He wished he could still look at her without her noticing, stealing glances every now and then to reassure himself that _yes okay she was in fact very beautiful_ and _I really need to stop staring._

He wishes he could play with her hair and stroke her face, but that thought scares him too much and he thinks that the only way he'd ever have the courage to do it is if he saw her again.

His sister tells him he needs to move on in the kindest of ways, Raven rolls her eyes and tells him that there was no use in moping about, and even Lexa spares him with the advice of, _"Clarke thought highly of you. She would want you to go on in life unfazed and strong for her people."_

He had nodded firmly on the outside with an expressionless face, yet on the inside he was dying, the hallowed ache in his chest and his heart longing for her an unfortunate side effect to his whole discovery on _really, really needing Clarke._

So here he was again, pathetically rereading the lines of her note while sprawled out atop his makeshift mattress in his fortress of solitude, grasping onto the remnants of her and imagining the way her voice would have sounded saying the words herself.

He's a leader in some sense, can't risk just leaving on his own journey to find her, but he wants too.

Really, really wants too.

And maybe that old saying, "absence makes the heart grow fonder," wasn't too wrong.

* * *

"Gonna open my heart, out of the scars and listen up  
Gonna do what I'm told, though I'm told and listen up  
Take a shot in the rain, one for the pain and listen up  
I traveled the way

Wait for me, wait for me  
Oh, it's all better now, it's all better now  
Wait for me, wait for me."

Kings Of Leon


	4. Dances and Peace Treaties

A/N: Thank you for the reviews. I'm mostly doing this for the plot, since I think we're all in need of a happy Clarke.

This is a bit shorter since I had to cut the original into two chapters, but I hope you enjoy.

Clarke and Bellamy finally reunite next chapter... but it's not what they expect.

* * *

It's been nearly a month since her life was saved and changed drastically. Time had gone by slow and apprehensive at first, her body in a consistent state of suspicion and anxiety under the watchful eyes of the Ice Nation's people. But, it had transitioned.

Exzilda had begun accompanying Clarke everywhere, enthusiastically asking her questions and giving her many gifts that consisted of canvases and oil paints.

This would have once irked the isolated blonde, but the human interaction felt… refreshing.

She even opened up to the Queen, confessing with a grieving tongue and sorrow soaked cheeks about the life she lead before, her hands quivering as she held out her arms for Exzilda to see the red dripping down to the floor.

The Queen had embraced her and combed her fingers through Clarke's hair like a soothing mother, whispering comfort of _we all have scars, we all hurt. It's how we survive that makes us strong, it's how we fight against the inner demons that define our strength. Being numb, isolating yourself; that's weak. _She had cradled Clarke's cheeks with her palms, her eyes tender and understanding.

_To love is the ultimate strength._

Since that day, Clarke had begun her rocky journey of recovery, the stark white walls of her room now a gallery full of paintings and designs. She had begun to forge a strong friendship with the Queen, beginning a new life of healing that she'd never thought she'd have.

She never thought she would be able to smile again.

The memories of her past haunted her, even in the midst of every sunshiny day and every smile.

It was a shadow that crept behind her, a fragment of a dream lost and disassembled through time.

But with her new-found strength and hope, she felt she could live life contently again.

Clarke's got paint drops of Saturn in her hair, a mixture of oranges and yellows slicked into one of the dangling curls hanging loose from her messy ponytail. She's got a red smudge on her cheek that for once, isn't blood; the scent of paint a fragrance that seemed to enrapture and intoxicate her.

Her deep blue eyes in a squint of concentration, her tongue darting out over her bottom lip and her nose scrunched up as she flicks her wrist against the once blank canvas, splaying the blushing color of pink to form yet another petal sprinkling on the sparkling blue surface of a pond.

She's smiling, genuinely smiling, with her cheeks aching at the unfamiliar expression and her heart aching in relieved joy, the air around her lighter and filled with soothing laughter.

The women perched behind her, sitting poise and polite on top of a complicatedly wood-carven stool, her consistently hidden hands crossed on her lap, the sleeves swaying with each laugh that bubbles out past her strawberry stained lips.

"So, I think it's about time that you learn some of the festival dances. No more of this shy, too afraid to dance act you always put up. I've heard from many that you scare away any of the men willing to ask with just a glance."

There's amusement interlaced in Exzilda's words, as well as a persistent smile curling up the corners of her lips as she watches the blonde artist at work. The Queen laughs again at the sudden stiffness in Clarke's shoulders as the girl tilts her head to side-glare her.

"So that's the look you use to scare away even the most intimidating of warriors."

The stubborn pout in Clarke's lips is nothing but childlike as she grumbles, swiftly turning back towards her masterpiece.

"I can't dance." Clarke tries to suppress the urge to smile yet again at the burst of giggles behind her, her paintbrush dipping and swirling absentmindedly into lavender, the makeshift paint palette settling on another stool beside her.

"All lies. If you can paint, you can dance." The slightly older woman states confidently as she sits up straight the way she does when trying to ooze authority.

Clarke scoffs, rolling her eyes as she turns back around in place, her ocean orbs finding the grayish pale blue eyes of the Queen as she crosses her arms over her front with a small smile itching its way on her face.

"How do you figure?" She says incredulously, her eyebrow lifting in sarcastic disbelief at the currently smirking established woman.

"Darling, it's all in the wrists," Exzilda begins in a mock serious tone, standing up and holding her hands in the air in front of her, twirling her wrists in a circular motion.

"Then you just translate that movement to your hips, and bam! You're the best dancer in the Ice Nation." She swirls her hips in time with her wrists, a shit eating grin consuming her flawless face as she continues the movements in a routine belly dance.

Clarke can't contain the laughter as she abandons her paintbrush, trying to match the movements of the elder lady and failing miserably.

"Is this how you did it? Seduce the Nation into making you Queen?" Clarke says in a breathless voice as she stumbles around in her movements, her face steeling into attentiveness as she finally manages to swirl her wrists in an appropriate motion.

Exzilda shakes her head full of thick dark hair, twirling in circles and snorting at the choppy movements of the blonde.

"Oh yes. They were fascinated with my killer moves," she snickers, humming softly as she reminisces of her days of coronation.

She sighs happily before collapsing back on top of her stool, admiring how the younger girl became frustrated at the incompetent roll of her hips.

"Clarke, on a more serious note," she pauses hesitantly, her eyes catching Clarke's, the artist halting in her dance and the bright grin slipping into a thin lipped frown. The Queen sighs again in sympathy, her head tilting to the side as her eyebrows furrow in thought.

"I've already had Lestic send out the messengers to deliver the invitations. If they accept, both the Grounders and The Sky People, they will be staying here for a week to complete the peace treaty, as I've told you."

Clarke nods in confirmation, her heart in her throat as she drops her gaze to her bare feet and curls her toes, before turning back around and fumbling for her paintbrush.

The Queen notes the tense slowness of Clarke's movements, her eyes trained on the back of the girl's head as she speaks soft and uncertain.

"You will be assigned as the ceremony body painter. It's a simple job and goes by quickly, I assure you. I can disguise your identity if you wish, or I can get someone else to do it, but since you insisted I - ."

Exzilda's caught short by the sun kissed beauty's quiet voice, her eyes that strayed to the floor returning to the back of Clarke's head.

"It's alright, Exzilda. I can handle it. Though them not being able to know it's me… that would be a relief." Clarke dots the petals with drips of icy blue, her heart beginning to race quicker in her chest at the thought of her people coming.

_How am I supposed to hide from my Mom?_

_Bellamy?_

As if reading her thoughts, Exzilda makes a noise of disapproval.

"You have no need to worry, Clarke. I will take care of everything. Once this is through, you will have your closure and be able to remain here in peace," The Queen pauses for a sly moment, a ghost of a smile curling her lips upwards as she continues on mischievously.

"As my second of course."

Clarke's hand halts in the midst of leaving swift streaks of yellow streaming through the sky, her eyes widening at the coy mention, a huge smile breaking from its confines and running across her face.

She twirls around in place, her eyes twinkling with excitement as she faces the kind woman in front of her, a thankful warmth filling her stomach as she curls her fingers into fists.

"When will they arrive?"

* * *

_This is fucking terrible._

Bellamy's slumped over in his seat, a hand rubbing down his face in agitation as the continuous back and forth of Abby and Lexa arguing rattle his brain and tempt his patience.

"This can guarantee there will be no outbreaks of war. With this treaty we can trade for supplies with the Ice Nation that you and I both know, we desperately need," Abby debates, her eyebrows pinched together in desperation as well as that ever present crease in her forehead wrinkling.

Lexa slams her fist down onto the table for the fourth time in a row, startling some of the other men but only succeeding in making Bellamy silently groan.

"I refuse to partake and put my people in danger of an ambush. You're ignorant to the cruelness of the Ice Nation's Queen. You will arrive, and she will slaughter your people."

The resentment is thick in Lexa's words, the slight quivering tainting her intimidating tone. Abby exhales loudly in defeat, the hours of debate finally seeming to take a toll on her.

"The invitation states that we may bring as many people as we deem fit. They offer us a once in a life time opportunity for unity with them, which also comes with free gifts and open trade. This means no more deaths alongside the mountain front and beside the coast. We need this."

Lexa eyes waver, her lips sucked in to kiss her teeth as she pinches the bridge of her nose. She tilts her head slightly, before glancing back heatedly at the Chancellor.

"Say we go, and we establish a treaty with these people that have been in a constant state of battle with my own. What happens if it's a trick?"

Bellamy tilts his head to glance at Abby, taking in the way her nose scrunches up while encased in contemplation. Her expression reminds him of Clarke, and his heart squeezes uncomfortably in his chest.

_Dammit._

"Both of our people combined could easily take on the Ice Nation. We do not have to worry about such things. The pro's outweigh the con's. It's worth the risk."

Another squeeze.

Lexa chews on her tongue while nodding curtly at Abby. She feels the heavy gazes of the fellow council members but doesn't back down.

Instead she stands up straighter and taller, her words slick, cold and condescending.

"Fine, but we only bring those crucial to the treaty. The rest stay here."

Bellamy's musky eyes dart back towards Abby, watching her try to suppress a smile in victory as she nods back. He wants to croak out his own disapproval, the thought of _you can't be serious, look how the last peace treaty went _crossing his mind, but instead he clenches his teeth together.

"We leave tomorrow."

* * *

"Hate me when I'm gone, I'll make it worth your while when I'm successful  
But when I'm here I need your kindness 'cause the climb is always stressful  
Clumsily grasp myself by thinking I'll be better off alone  
I'll leave my peace in pieces all around the decent people back at home."

Raleigh Ritchie, Stronger than Ever


	5. The Beginning

A/N: Please forgive me for any errors. Thank you so much for the reviews! I am delighted. I've been busy with school and haven't had time, but now I'm back at it! I wanted to respond to some of them by saying, Exzilda was implying that Clarke would become her second after the peace treaty is over and the Grounders and Sky People leave. Sorry if that was confusing!

Also, there is some very… interesting stuff going to be happening and it will be great.

I love Bellarke stuck in forced situations, eh?

Also, for the Ice Queen, you will just have to find out.

Anyways I hope you enjoy, there are very minor indications of self-harm/depression so if this triggers you, you have been warned.

* * *

It is nearing midnight when they arrive, the stars sprayed across the black blanket sky, the moon a big ominous glow that's light reflects glaringly harsh against the snow.

Her hair catches the light as well, the strands like sparkles and glittering gold, her chin held high and her head tilted back, her eyes admiring the sight above her, the heavens just out of reach.

She's alone, something she hasn't felt for the past month with the constant lingering of the Queen's presence, and it's surprisingly harder then she thought.

It's easy when she's distracted, lost in the paint staining her fingers and the pretty words dwindling from a gentle tongue, it's easy when their eyes follow her movements and the loneliness keeps at bay.

It's easy when she doesn't have the time to think, doesn't have the time to remember, and doesn't have the time to be broken.

Because through all the hope and words and a new chance at life she still feels lost, wandering aimlessly through countless faceless faces, with minds that don't critique her mistakes and don't pity her loss.

It's still there, this deep seeded heaviness weighing upon her heart like stones, collapsing and crushing and making it hard to breath, hard to function, hard to stay alive.

Sometimes she misses the pressure of the sea, clutching her in its grasp and swaying her to its motions, the pressure of the air still inside her lungs and in her chest and how nice it felt to let the breath leave in bubbles rising to the surface.

Sometimes she misses having the ability to give up if she wanted.

She clutches the scars littering her wrists and her forearms with the quivering fingers of her right hand, a shaky breath gasping out like smoke into the air around her as she clenches the black cloth in a tight grip with her left hand.

When she sees _them,_ her _people,_ she allows herself a split moment to contain her emotions and steady her trembling bones and muster the courage she always seemed to have in these types of situations before making her way further to the front of the sidelines to see them.

The roars of bonfires and the crackle of wood echoes in the air, intermingling with the many voices of the Sky people and the Grounders parading in through the intricately swirling designed gates. Their boots crunch the matted snow beneath them with bulky stomps as if to allude to their power, a superior brute aura about them as they approach with suspicious eyes and a guarded tight lipped blank faces.

Clarke backpedals a step into the crowd of awaiting Ice people, their bodies like a swarm of bees in a hive, her heart in her throat as she fumbles with her hair and positions it atop her head, the material falling just above her eyebrows as she tucks a piece over her mouth and nose. Her breath heats up the fabric atop her lips and it tickles her nose, her skin a sickly sort of hot underneath the many layers concealing the rest of her body.

She doesn't see him first, no, she sees her mother and Lexa leading the group at the front, Lexa's eyes narrowed and her lips pulled back like an animal about to bare its teeth in a stony and severe outward appearance, her mother's ever present frown deepening and her eyes widening at the dazzling white of the village.

She sees Lincoln, Octavia and Indra, all striding together in sync with matching glares, her gut dropping at the familiar lingering affection radiating from the couple, her eyes roaming frantically for _him._

_He has to be close behind Octavia._

She sees other council members along with Kane, and Jaha with John Murphy trailing leisurely behind.

She sees other faces that she recognizes as Lexa's most trusted warriors, but she doesn't see _him._

For a horrible moment the heaviness crawls up into her throat and she feels the urge to vomit, the pounding in her chest thumping loudly in her ears, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

_He isn't here. He didn't come._

_I won't see him again._

It's the worst kind of feeling, like a tidal wave dragging her one way and pulling her in another, the sense of overwhelming relief colliding with the sense of mourning and disappointment.

For a horrible moment all she sees is the waves and the emptiness of the beach, all she hears is the sound of her own voice crying and screaming in agony, all she feels is the force of salty water closing around her head and filling her lungs.

But then out of the corner of her eyes she catches sight of _him. _

Of _Bellamy._

He drags his feet as he enters last, his furrowed expression and grumbling lips, his taunt shoulders and his paranoid, skeptical eyes scrutinizing everyone that came into his line of sight.

Suddenly it's as if she's on fire, burning in her own skin looking at him, really _seeing_ him after so long of dreary dreams of a crooked smile and a dimpled chin and a fleeting fantasy of his whispering voice raspy in her ear muttering the sweetest of nonsense.

He's just as he was those months ago, except now his shoulders sag a bit more in a silent way of defeat, his eyes fleeting as if he's afraid of seeing something he shouldn't.

The man in front of her with enhancing swirls of green winding around his eyebrows tilts his head to the side, suppressing a small smile at the deer in headlights expression the blonde was wearing.

"Clarke, can you believe these people? Outwardly criticizing from the moment they arrive. I'm shocked that Exzilda agreed to this." Karsh mutters lowly out of the side of his mouth, a hand raking through his shoulder length dirty blonde hair.

Clarke blinks in surprise at Karsh's voice, heat creeping up her neck at being caught outwardly staring. She bites her tongue to stop herself from defending them, the unsettling words of Exzilda flashing in her mind and echoing in her ears.

_When they come you must remember who you are. You must never go back, and know that you are one of us now. Once an Ice Person, always and Ice Person, Clarke. Never turn back. _

Her eyes dipping to the floor and then back to the brawny man in front of her.

"I know. I'm shocked as well." She says, her eyes quickly darting back to the ocean of familiar faces swarming in the middle of the village, the wrinkle in her forehead returning as she tries anxiously inspecting for Bellamy again after realizing she had lost sight of him.

A loud gong is sounded repeatedly throughout the introduction ceremony, the many Ice People aligned on the outskirts looking in, the sturdiest and more foreboding warriors standing tall and proud at the front of the group in a line positioned atop a taller step of ice.

When the gate is closed with a creek, a vigilant man with thick gray eyebrows that curl around his beady eyes begins to speak piercingly and deeply over the mumbling visitors, his punitive tone peeking the interest of the apprehensive group.

"We are here today to begin the celebration of Unity and Peace among the Ice Nation, the Sky People, and the Grounders. For those of you whom do not know, I shall introduce you to our leader, Exzilda of the Ice Nation."

He steps to the side revealing the familiar tall women, her hair slicked and cascading down her back in a river of black, her eyes twinkling with overly cheerful affection as she takes in the swarm of bodies in front of her. Her hands remain hidden behind her back as she stands up straighter and smiles brilliantly.

The beating of the drums like earthquakes cease as her feather light voice takes flight in the air.

"I welcome you all, with the greatest of pleasures. I thank you for taking the journey here to fulfill the promise of peace and to discuss the topic of trade. I also am grateful that you'd look beyond the past and look towards the future with us, as we descend into a life that guarantees prosperity." She takes a small breath, her eyes casting downwards to meet Lexa's before quickly skittering away.

"Please join us as we confirm our new-found trust with a feast, and a cultural dance. Firstly, we shall show you where you will be staying at, and have you take part in the marking of reconciliation," She pauses and glances over to find the eyes of Clarke, her smile weakening and her eyes blinking with concern before she continues on in a sturdy voice, "Afterwards we shall invite you to enjoy the many gifts we offer to you. Please let my people show you to where you will be staying. I expect to see you all very soon."

It's an abrupt dismissal as she steps back behind her curtaining guards, the banging of the drums returning as she makes her hasty escape blending into the background. Another man announces whom to follow to guide them to where they will be staying, and suddenly everyone is moving and bumping into each other to lend a helping hand.

The man beside Clarke accidentally brushes too hard into her shoulder, shoving her forwards into the swamped mob and closer to the center of the commotion.

It's like a confusing dance as the Ice People offer maybe too willingly to help the outsiders, their bodies pushing her farther into the mess until she trips over her own two feet and falls face first into the side of an unsuspecting stranger.

The unfortunate man impulsively wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her flush against his side to steady her balance and break her fall, his feet backtracking at the sudden impact and a soft sound passes through his lips.

"Oof."

Her eyes widen as she scrambles to get out of his embrace as they greedily steal a glance at the supposed stranger that was not a stranger at all.

Their eyes meet and for a horrible moment she forgets why she ran away, she forgets the pain and misery, she forgets the people around her and she forgets the Queen's warning.

For a horrible moment she never wants to leave his side again.

"Bellamy."

* * *

"Pushing me away so I give her space  
Dealing with a heart that I didn't break  
I'll be there for you, I will care for you  
I keep thanking you, just don't know  
Trying to run from that, say you're done with that  
On your face girl, it just don't show."

Drake, Take Care


	6. Encounters

A/N: So I've decided to continue the story, as well as Knocking Helps. I should have the next chapter for that in the next week. I was very upset over the whole Clexa situation, as well as having another one of my ships sinking the same week! Yet I had already written this chapter beforehand, and I finished it up and decided to hell with it. I'm going to be finishing the story no matter what happens on the show. Since the idea is too fun to pass up. Thank you so much for all of those who reviewed and offered encouragement, especially that one reviewer who messaged me privately haha! Thank you, this is all for you guys.

Enjoy.

* * *

Time

Time is all that I needed

They said that with time the wound would heal

That it will no longer be as recognizable

As apparent

That it would no longer hurt

But with time I realized

That this wound was capable of much more than pain

That it could make things harder

It would make things seemingly impossible

Because what was the point of moving on and healing

When a piece of me is always damaged

Always aching

Always reminding me

Of its presence.

That sore spot that didn't only hurt when I touched it

It hurt when I thought about it

It hurt even when it wasn't supposed to

Even when it had healed on the surface and no longer appeared

Ugly.

It hurt even when it wasn't noticeable

Even when the pain lessened and I forgot

It hurts even now.

It was a lie when they said

That with time it would heal

It would go away

Because nothing can rid your memory

Nothing can distract me from the wound you left

Upon my heart.

* * *

Her fingers tremble as she pulls her hands slowly away, not yet wanting to let go and stop touching him since he was here and alive and the constant reminder brought warmth to the tips of her toes to the roots of her hair.

He notices her ever present reluctance and slow melody of her movements with confusion as she quickly darts her eyes away, the flash of deep blue resounding something with him, something resembling disbelief.

It triggers the eagerness of his movements as he quickly and gently grasps her chin through the thin fabric and tilts her head up to look at her eyes again, his heart beat quickly accelerating with each passing moment.

The suddenness of his actions take her by surprise as she meets his dark musky brown eyes with her own, her eyes widening in shock and horror.

"Clarke?!"

He says incredulously while jerking back, his lips parting in a silent gasp, his eyes broadening in bewildered recognition as he instantly recognizes the haunting color in her eyes, the same shade of blue he would once get lost and drown in.

She leans away from him, her insides beginning to stir together unnerving as she fidgets underneath his unwavering and astonished gaze, her eyes diverting to the floor as she puts a good foot of space between them.

He grasps onto her wrists urgently, forcing her forward as he leans in determinedly to witness those eyes again, his jaw slack now clenched, the gears in his mind starting to function properly.

She reluctantly spares him a glance, the words tumbling out of her mouth like a land slide, uncontrollably and unpredictable.

"Bellamy,"

He furiously drops one of her wrists and rakes a hand through his hair with a muffled curse. His heart thudding unpleasantly harsh in his chest and his skin heats up as if she's set him on fire, his hands becoming clammy as he clasps her wrist a bit tighter.

"You… I thought you were dead."

He rambles, his gape incredulous as he stares at her, greedily soaking in, his eyes scanning all of her features.

He takes in her outfit, draped in black cloth from head to toe, her eyes like breath taking jewels that take your attention immediately, the skin around her eyes seemingly tanner. An unexpected silly need to tug off the black drape from her head surges through him, a want to see her golden locks and her full lips and all too familiar face all too much, yet he doesn't move an inch.

He whispers in disbelief, "You left. And came here?"

There was an accusation hidden in his words that she immediately picks up on; her startled and fearful features hardening.

"No. I left and they found me."

His parted lips close and he nods firmly, anger flashing in his eyes as he leans in a tad closer to her, his voice lowering distinctly.

"Are you their prisoner?"

The worry in his voice makes her heart squeeze and tears prick at the back of her eyes, the ridiculous hope that he could still care and worry about her building inside.

"Of course not." She reassures him, her face relaxing and her eyebrows tugging downwards as a small frown finds its rightful place on her lips.

His eyes narrow into slits.

"If they aren't forcing you to a stay here… then why didn't you ever return?" He raises his voice in anger, paying no mind to the prying eyes of the many people crowded around them.

His syllables drip with resentment and grief, his fingers trembling around her wrists as he tries to suppress the flood of words pressing behind the cash of his teeth.

She opens her mouth but no words come to her rescue. She shuts it quickly, her lips brushing against the material reminding her that he probably couldn't see her struggle.

"And return to what, huh? Go back to a place where everyone I care about treats me like I'm the plague? Go back and be constantly reminded of the mistake I made?"

She feels a sob claw at her throat as he watches her with a heated expression, his eyes darkening as she hastily and nervously declares her defense.

"I'm accepted here, Bellamy. They treat me like I matter. Like my life isn't worthless."

He scoffs, shaking his head in contempt as he darts his eyes away. She watches this action, her heart clenching again agonizingly inside her.

"It's true! And I'm sorry that I left Bellamy, but I'm surprised that you even care!"

"Of course I care!" He explodes back, locking eyes with her.

She steps back as if he's physically struck her, her brain going blank, the awful memories of his distance and bitterness flash flooding back into her mind.

"Clarke."

A voice jerks them both back into reality. His hands drop instantly as Clarke's head turns quickly towards the voice, relief sag her shoulders and soften her features remarkably.

"Exzilda."

Bellamy blinks taken off guard as his gaze flickers to the fairly older woman, her glass eyes kind yet terrifying, her looming figure an inch taller than him as she tilts her head to the side in strained innocence, the smile tugging at her lips making Bellamy's skin crawl.

When she speaks, it's sickeningly sweet, like sticky sap, her gaze falling on the younger girl with concern as she bites the inside of her cheek.

"I need you to come with me, immediately. It is important for you to be prepared before the marking begins."

Clarke nods briskly, her eyes finding Bellamy's in an almost shy and sheepish way. He opens his mouth to argue but is quickly cut off by the woman, her face flinty and her eyes calm as she snappishly faces him, her tone polite yet seemingly threatening.

"I suggest you find yourself someone to guide you to the place you will be staying. Clarke is _not_ available."

She sneers, before twirling on her heel and leading the way through the crowd.

Clarke shoots him a guilty look as she whispers with a heavy heart.

"Bye Bellamy."

And then she's darting after the queen, leaving him speechless and discombobulated for the second time.

* * *

When she finally manages to catch up with the uncharacteristically anxious Queen, she's out of breath. Her small in takes of air causes Exzilda to swivel on her heel and glance at her with an unexplainable look in her eye, her features appearing more guarded than they have ever seemed before, her lips puckered as if she had just tasted the sourness of a lemon and her eyes glazed over as if she were in a cloud of deep thought.

"I see you didn't stick to the, 'not getting caught' plan," The taller women states borderline sarcastically as she makes her way through swaying curtains into the semi-destroyed building, her eyes flickering back towards the path before her as she continues on in her hasty pace.

Clarke narrows her eyes, feeling oddly suspicious of the unusual tenseness of the Queen's shoulders and the strain in her voice, a slight groan finding it's way out of her mouth without permission.

"I didn't mean too." She responds back dumbly, her nose scrunching at the thought of her maybe wanting to have him see her and recognize her, the feeling of his warm and muscular arms holding her tightly and securely, the sound of his voice; gravely and worried.

The Queen sighs; rolling her eyes at the dazed look on the petite blonde's face as she scans the hall way around them before scurrying into a room with an open door. A small smile snags at her lips at the small gratefulness that she always receives at doors being open for her.

"Whatever you say," she pauses, pursing her lips in mock annoyance as she searches the room frantically for the many red paint buckets resting patiently atop a tarp. She bites her lip before tilting her head back at Clarke.

"The marking is crucial for the rest of the reconciliation ceremony to commence. As one of the Ice People, is it a tradition that we all take part, each one of us choosing a person from a different clan, whom will stay our partner for the rest of the week."

The blonde nods curtly as she crouches down to pick up the rusted buckets, the conversation with Bellamy unnerving her as she shakes her head enable to rid the thought.

"I know." She softly states as she stands back up again, four buckets hazardously balanced in both of her hands and arms, the sight making the Queen's heart squeeze at the ache to reach out and help but not being able to grasp something with her nonexistent fingers.

The Queen sighs again, her eyes closing before she opens them up again, a sad smile gracing her lips.

"The man, the one whom you draw often," She stops teasingly as she gauges the reaction of the shorter girl, a laugh bubbling up to her lips as she watches pink heat creep up Clarke's neck.

"It's not like that!" The queen laughs softly at the discomfort and denial lacing each word of the blonde.

"Will he be the one you choose?" She finishes with a more serious tone.

Clarke cradles the buckets tighter in her arms, her eyes dropping to the floor suddenly.

"Of course not. It's bad enough he saw me. I can't spend the rest of the week with him. The only person I rather not be partnered with is my mother."

"Abby, the leader of the Sky People, no?"

"The Chancellor of the Sky People, but yes, Abby."

Exzilda's clicks her tongue somewhat irritably at the memory of vague disapproval itched across Abby's face during the whole speech. She lets out a slow sigh before nodding her head to Clarke.

"I'll have some of the servants assist you in setting up for the marking. It will take place when the gong is hit three times." She finishes when she notices the reoccurring crease in-between the blondes eyebrows, catching Clarke's eyes with her own as she lowers her voice to a light, feathery whisper.

"Clarke, when I was only a few years older than you, I took part in this same reconciliation ceremony with the Grounder tribe. When I… when I saw Lexa I laid out my hand and immediately marked her. She was younger than me, more reserved and shy, and… I knew I wanted to help her branch out and connect with the rest of the people. I never could have imagined that week would lead to something different entirely," Clarke watches with a sympathetic fixed look as the small smile tugging on the corner of the Queen's lips falls, her eyes like glossy painted jewels. Exzilda clears her throat and straightens back up, latching onto Clarke's upholding gaze again.

"Whoever you choose, know that you are giving them the chance to affect and be a part of your life. If that amounts to a fleeting acquaintance, or a lifetime friend, or even a lover… make your decision wisely."

The blonde nods curtly, her heart suddenly heavier in her chest, her suspicion of their being something more to Lexa and Exzilda being confirmed. She curls her fingers tighter around the buckets of red paint in anxious anticipation.

The only thing she really knows, is that whoever she ends up choosing, there's a possibility her choice can change her life.

* * *

"I don't wanna be needing your love  
I just wanna be deep in your love  
And it's killing me when you're away, ooh, baby,  
'Cause I really don't care where you are  
I just wanna be there where you are  
And I gotta get one little taste."

Maroon 5 - Sugar

* * *

A/N: Next chapter we see who Clarke ends up partnered with for the next week, having to do many activities with to bond and blah blah blah haha.

Is there something going on with Lexa and Exzilda? Will Abby be happy about Clarke being alive? What will Bellamy do?

Please review :) !


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